Reasons
by Tajjas
Summary: Mick realizes something odd about Prophet and tries to get to the bottom of the mystery.
1. Why Don't You Date?

_Mick realizes something odd about Prophet and tries to get to the bottom of the mystery._

_I haven't had a lot of writing time lately, but CM: SB is still in my brain, and since I had some character backstory I never got to use in Red Cell One (that happens to me a lot, actually, since having even made-up backstory tends to help me with a character's personality even if I haven't got a place for it in the current story) and there was a comment left on Night Flights that got me thinking, I decided to put some of it here. I'm expecting this to be a three-shot starting sometime after Two of a Kind and ending immediately after Here Is the Fire...the last part will definitely end there, even if it runs longer than I plan. _

* * *

Mick glanced over as Prophet came up beside him. "Hey. I take it I'll be finding my own way back to my flat tonight?" He'd ridden the bus to work this morning and then caught a ride with Prophet to the bar afterwards…none of the others had been interested in coming along, but there was a bus stop just across the street so it wasn't a big deal.

"Hm?" Prophet shook his head. "Oh, no, I was just going to tell you that I think I'm about ready to head home. Do you want a ride back to your place, or are you going to stay a while longer?"

"Uh, no, I'm ready to go too," Mick said after a moment, more than a little surprised. As last he'd seen, Prophet had been getting along pretty well with the blonde who'd taken the seat just down the bar from them—well enough that Mick had moved in the opposite direction a bit to give them some privacy, despite the fact that tonight definitely hadn't been his best night when it came to the ladies and he'd spent most of his time with his eyes on the one screen in this place showing actual football—and he wasn't sure what had changed.

Prophet didn't seem to have anything else to say, though, he just nodded and then shrugged his jacket on and turned for the door.

Mick glanced around quickly, but the blonde was gone as well, and after a moment he tossed a couple bills down beside his empty glass and hurried to catch up with Prophet. "What happened, mate?" he asked as they exited the bar. "I thought you and…it was Kristen something, right?...I thought you and Kristen were getting along pretty well."

"It was Kirsten, and we were." He shrugged and turned down the side street where his car was parked. "She's a nice woman."

Mick shot him an exasperated look. "'A nice woman'? Really? Come on, old man, you've got to be able to do better than _that_."

Prophet shook his head and gave him a half smile but didn't elaborate further as he unlocked the car doors and got in.

Mick frowned as he opened his door. He knew that expression—it meant that whatever had been said really was all that Prophet planned to say on a given subject—but thinking back, he realized that this wasn't the first time that he'd seen Prophet leave a bar alone when he'd been expecting the opposite. In fact, Mick couldn't actually remember a time when Prophet _hadn't_ gone home by himself. And it wasn't because he couldn't find company either. He wasn't anywhere near the extrovert that Mick was, granted, more often than not he was the one who ended up with his eyes on a game while Mick chatted up someone he fancied, but he was perfectly capable of engaging in conversation when he wanted to. And if he could be talked onto the dance floor, he never lacked for partners. Of course, getting him out there usually required a few drinks and Gina forcing the issue on the grounds that at least she could trust her teammates not to go putting their hands anywhere uninvited, but still.

"Hey, what's up?" Prophet asked, leaning over to look out at Mick. "Did you forget something?"

"What? No." Mick shook his head and got in quickly, pulling his door shut as Prophet turned the car on. "Did you at least get her number? I mean, come on, man, she was hot." And sometimes the differences in his and Prophet's backgrounds, or at least in the ways they'd been raised, showed up at the oddest times. Prophet never said anything when Mick joked about his late nights, mostly he just shook his head and smiled, but maybe this was one of those instances.

"No."

Mick considered for a moment. "You do like women, don't you?" He'd always assumed so, but he didn't think he'd ever actually asked before.

"What?" Prophet gave him a strange look. "Yes, I like women. How much have you had to drink?"

"Not that much, but I'm having a hard time figuring out what your problem is with picking up women in bars. Or why you don't date, for that matter, because now that I think about it, you don't seem to do that either." Granted that he'd only really known Prophet for two years—which was kind of weird when he thought about it because he was closer to Prophet than pretty much anyone else in this country except Coop—but surely Prophet should have run into _someone_ that he was at least a little interested in in all that time.

Prophet shook his head again and flipped the radio on. "You need to get some sleep, brother."


	2. Let It Go

_Thanks to everyone who read and stilljustme, narwhayley, and bindsy for reviewing._

* * *

Mick checked that Prophet and Coop still had their heads together about whatever Beth was scribbling on the chalkboard and then pushed himself up out of his seat and wandered over to lean against Gina's desk. "Hey."

"Hey," she returned. "Bored with reports already?"

"Just a bit." In the field he could hold the same position for ten or twelve hours without even thinking about it, longer than that if he needed to, but paperwork just didn't work like that. After an hour at a desk he always had to get up and stretch or walk around the office or do _something_ to relieve the tedium.

She grinned and shook her head.

"I've got a question for you." He glanced back at the other three before looking down at her again. "Has Prophet ever gone out with anyone?"

"What?"

"Prophet," he repeated a little more clearly, although he kept his voice low. "Has he ever gone out with anyone that you know of?" Gina hadn't known Prophet quite as long as he had, but it was only a few months difference. Maybe she'd noticed something that he hadn't.

She frowned. "I don't know. Not that I can remember, but you hit the bars with him a lot more often than I do. Half the time when I go with the two of you it's after a case, and I'm generally not looking for a hot date right after dealing with a…I don't know." She gestured at the folder in front of her. "After dealing with a family annihilator either."

Okay, she had a point there. "Still, we do go out for fun sometimes," he pressed. "You'd think he'd have run into _someone_ he was interested in."

She shrugged. "Maybe he's just picky. That's not a bad thing. I mean, considering the trouble you have just remembering names…."

"I do not have trouble remembering names."

"Oh, yeah?" She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. "Who's that redhead from Records that you wandered off with the week before last?"

"Missy," Mick said promptly, and then his triumphant grin faded as he thought for a moment. "Or was it Misty?"

Gina rolled her eyes. "Yeah, it's really _Prophet's_ dating habits that we should be worried about. Why do you ask, anyway?"

"I don't know, I just noticed the other day when we were leaving the bar that he never seems to go out with anybody. Or, you know, anybody who's not us or the baseball team or something like that. It seemed kind of odd."

"So ask him."

"I tried. He didn't answer."

"Well, I guess you could try Coop or Beth if you really think there's something there. Maybe one of them has noticed something."

Except that Coop went out with them even less frequently than Gina so he wasn't likely to have seen anything that Mick hadn't, and even if he did know something beyond observation, he'd never divulge another person's secrets. And Beth might—_might_—be less likely to keep her mouth shut, but she'd only been with them for a few months and was at least as much of a loner as Coop was.

"Mick, Gina," Coop called before Mick could reply. "Come check this out."

"We've got a new case?" Gina asked as Mick twisted to look back at them.

"Maybe. There have been almost a dozen abductions reported across the southwest in the last four months, and it looks like Beth's found a pattern."

* * *

"I spy something…brown."

"Mick, I swear, if the answer is 'sand' one more time…."

"Well, what else am I supposed to spy?" Mick complained, ignoring the threat in Prophet's tone. "This is pretty much the most boring stretch of road that I've ever been on in my entire life. Besides, you're the one who broke the radio."

"For the last time, I did not break the radio. It's not my fault that it cut out while I was changing channels."

"Right."

Prophet shook his head but didn't respond, and Mick twisted to rest his forehead against the window. They'd set up a base at the police station in the town where the latest abduction had occurred, but since the abductions had taken place across several hundred miles there had been a lot of legwork to do in terms of scouting the known abduction sites and doing interviews and that sort of thing. They'd considered doing it by phone, but some things you just needed to see in person, and unfortunately they didn't get to keep the jet through the duration of the case.

Coop and Gina had started off to the east three days ago while Mick and Prophet had gone west and Beth had stayed behind to coordinate, and even though this would be their last stop, and even if the police had everyone they'd asked for available for questioning when they arrived—so far they'd been doing pretty well in that respect, actually; Beth had a knack for bullying people into doing what she wanted—they still had another several-hour drive to get back to base tomorrow. He and Prophet never had trouble getting along, but it had been nice to be able to just listen to the radio and unwind after spending hours questioning witnesses and victims' families and everything else.

"Okay, fine, let's play twenty questions," Mick said after a few more minutes of silence broken only by road noise.

"Oh, for—take a nap or something, would you?"

Mick grinned. "Why don't you date?"

Prophet took his eyes off the road for a moment to look over at him. "What?"

"Question number one. I'm sure I can come up with nineteen more."

"That's not how you play twenty questions."

"No, but you don't want to play anyway." Mick shrugged. "Come on, you never answered me the other night. Or do you date, and you just keep all your dates secret from the rest of us for some reason?" His grin widened. "Because I'm better looking than you?"

Prophet snorted and returned his gaze to the road. "Sure. Let's go with that."

Mick's grin fell away. For all that Prophet was usually willing to talk, when it came to information about himself he rarely spoke in anything except generalities. Mick had noticed the habit a while ago and while he could understand it with strangers—he didn't talk about Jenna with people he didn't know well either—Prophet did it with _everyone_. Hell, Mick still couldn't even pinpoint Prophet's hometown beyond 'down south.' "Come on, Proph, it's me," he said after a minute. "What's up?"

Prophet looked over at him again, and his face was as blank as Mick had ever seen it. "Let it _go_, Mick."

* * *

And he was back to the sappy B movie. Great. Unfortunately there didn't seem to be anything else on television at the moment except infomercials, and Mick didn't have much use for a vacuum cleaner with a carrot chopping attachment or a crockpot that doubled as a clothing dryer.

He tossed the remote down on the coffee table and rubbed his forehead. What he should be doing right now was sleeping, but his internal clock still seemed to be on west coast time courtesy of the multiple abduction case they'd spent the last three weeks on, and he was wide awake. And he didn't see much point in lying in bed staring up at the ceiling. Not that watching whoever-she-was obsess over what kind of birthday present she should get for her significant other was really any better, but….

He frowned, remembering suddenly the mystery of Prophet's lack of a social life. There was another indication that Prophet didn't date: in all the time that Mick had known him he couldn't remember Prophet once worrying about buying a gift for anyone. Oh, sure, he'd get something small for his teammates on holidays—Coop and now Beth as well generally got a book, Gina candy, and Mick something jokey like the little magnetic monkeys currently climbing his desk lamp at work— but unlike Gina or even Mick once or twice, he'd never bounced any ideas off the rest of them for anyone else.

Mick shook his head. The rest of the ride into Nowheresville had been pretty awkward after Prophet had shut him down…Prophet hadn't even looked at him again, and the unchanging scenery hadn't given him much to distract himself with. Fortunately as soon as they'd arrived they'd been able to get to work, and by the time it had been time to check in with Coop and the others and then crash at the hotel things had been more or less back to normal, but he hadn't liked the strain.

He knew damn well that if he was being intelligent, he'd do like Prophet said. It was Prophet's life, after all, and Prophet's decision what he wanted to reveal, even to one of his closest friends, and if it—whatever 'it' was—bothered him that much, Mick should let it be. But damn it, it didn't make _sense_. Prophet was a nice guy, intelligent…going a little grey, maybe, but it wasn't like he was hideous. Why wouldn't he date?

Maybe he was just picky like Gina had suggested? Two years was a long time, though; even Coop, who'd seriously considered becoming a priest once upon a time, had dated a little in that span. Granted that it had only been a handful of dates, and all with the same woman from the choir at his church, but at least that was something.

He was too busy? They were all too busy; that was hardly an excuse.

But what were the other options? Prophet was already married and felt the need to keep it a secret for some bizarre reason? Not likely, and anyway, given the amount of time that Mick spent hanging out at Prophet's place, he was pretty sure he'd have noticed a wife.

Prophet didn't want to explain the whole prison thing? Also not likely considering that Mick had never seen him shy away from the subject before, but even if he didn't, it wasn't like he had to say anything when he was first getting to know someone.

He'd lied about being gay? Aside from the fact that he'd seemed genuinely surprised by the question, why would he? He had to know that Mick wouldn't care one way or the other. Anyway, that wouldn't rule _out_ dating.

Mick frowned as a new possibility occurred to him. And not a pleasant one. The things that Mick didn't know about Prophet's past far outweighed what he did, and while Prophet had never once been sick in the time Mick had known him—in fact when Mick and Coop and Gina had all caught that nasty bug going around last year he hadn't had so much as a sniffle, and when they'd complained he'd just grinned and said that at this point his immune system could probably shake off the plague without even noticing—he did have a couple pretty vicious scars. Mick had only caught sight of them a few times when they were changing after sparring matches, and he'd always assumed that they'd been inflicted in prison and hadn't done any damage beyond the obvious since they didn't even slow him down in a fight, but…well, what if there had been an injury or illness in the past that had done worse?

He shook his head. No. Not something that he wanted to think about. Or was going to think about. Besides, Prophet had had to pass the same physical that Mick had to work at the FBI so there couldn't be anything seriously wrong with him.

That didn't tell him what the issue _was_, though. Mick shook his head. It was like one of those annoying, itchy little scabs. You just had to keep picking, even when you knew you shouldn't.


	3. Rough Cases

_Thanks to everyone who read and __bindsy, stilljustme, and narwhayley for reviewing_. Also, I lied; apparently this is going to be four or five chapters. Just once I'd like to be able to tie off a story where I planned, but somehow it never happens.

_The first part of this starts immediate after One Shot Kill and the second after Here Is the Fire (and assumes they took place fairly close together). A line or two was stolen from the end of each episode…if you recognize it, it's probably not mine._

* * *

"Anyone for a beer?" Mick called over his shoulder as he headed towards the exit, and he wasn't surprised to hear movement behind him.

A hand caught his collar and tugged him backwards lightly a moment later, and Mick felt himself relaxing further as Prophet slung an arm around his shoulders.

"I had him." It wasn't the first time that Mick had made that statement, but while winning Coop's forced sparring match had made him feel a little better about not being allowed to take the shot—even if he knew damn well that Coop could have beaten him if he'd wanted to—it was still important to him that the others believed him when he said that he could have made it.

"Think I don't know that?" Prophet shook his head and the arm around Mick's shoulders released and Prophet pushed him through the doors of the gym with a light shove. "We all know that so quit fussing about it." He smiled slightly as he fell into step with Mick again. "Hey, if nothing else, think of the paperwork that you avoided by _not_ shooting him."

Prophet kind of had a point there, firing a rifle was even worse than a sidearm when it came to the forms that had to be filled out afterwards, and after a moment Mick returned the shove. "Fine. But the first round is on you."

Prophet shook his head as they crossed into the street. "Not likely, especially since—"

"Did I hear that Prophet's buying?" Gina interrupted, coming up behind them.

Mick's 'yes' overlapped with Prophet's equally quick 'no,' and Mick grinned at Gina. "You want to be the tiebreaker?"

"Why don't you talk Coop into buying a round," Prophet suggested. "It has to be his turn by now considering that he almost never comes out with us."

That idea actually had merit, and Mick twisted back to make sure that Coop was planning on coming this time. It looked like he was…Beth was waiting by the door so obviously she was expecting him to follow.

Coop and Beth had caught up with them by the time they reached the entrance to the bar, and it wasn't hard to convince Coop to go along with Prophet' s suggestion. It was early enough that there wasn't much competition for space, and after an hour or so of conversation and familiar jokes flying among the group, Mick felt almost normal again. He was a good sniper and he liked doing it—not necessarily the killing part, but the challenge and the skill required to set up each shot—but the aftermath occasionally did a number on his nerves. Even on a day like today when he hadn't actually pulled the trigger. Maybe _especially_ on a day like today, considering what the unsub had done to bait him. There would be nightmares, he knew that already, but the calmer he could get before they came, the better. Coop and Beth both begged off as the bar began to fill up, which didn't really come as a surprise, but Gina and Prophet agreed without hesitation when he suggested that the three of them stay for the first of the evening games and split some appetizers for dinner.

"She's checking one of you out, you know," Gina murmured when they'd mostly cleaned the plates, dipping her head slightly in the direction of the other side of the bar.

Mick, never one to bother with discretion in that particularly situation, looked immediately where she'd indicated. A couple of women were eating together, probably from one of the offices nearby if the clothes were any indication, and sure enough, one of them did glance over in their direction a few times. Although judging by her gaze…. He elbowed Prophet. "Somebody seems to be on a lucky streak lately."

Prophet, whose gaze was split between the game on television and the plate in front of him, rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"You could at least wander by and say 'hello,'" Gina said. "We promise not to mind that you're abandoning us."

He shook his head again. "I'm fine, thanks. Got some wings to finish."

Mick was opening his mouth to say something else when he caught the flicker of warning in Prophet's eyes. While he was still curious about what was going on with Prophet, Mick hadn't forgotten Prophet's reaction to his prodding before, and the last thing he wanted was for that strain to return. Especially after the case they'd just finished. He shut his mouth and slid his extra ranch down the bar.

* * *

"What do you do with yours, Coop? With your ghosts?" Mick asked, fiddling absently with the cup of coffee in front of him. Because between their previous case with the Chicago sniper and now this bombing—these bombings—and the echoes of Fallujah, his were seriously starting to gang up on him.

Coop continued to stare down at the Bible in his hands for a few moments, long enough that Mick wasn't sure that he was going to get an answer, and then he finally looked over and something approaching a smile crossed his face. "I like to fly them in formation."

There was an edge to his smile that Mick understood all too well, but in the end it still didn't give him any insight into dealing with the things that were haunting him. It wasn't Coop's fault, though, Mick doubted that anything would. He took a sip of coffee, turning to stare out the window at nothing for a few minutes, and then he shook his head and stood. "I think I'm going to head out."

He drained his cup quickly and rinsed it in the sink before grabbing his duffel and heading for the door. He could have stayed, Coop wouldn't have minded, but it wouldn't be long before Coop put down his Bible and buried himself in one of his paintings. Tuning out the world was how Coop handled the un-handleable, and it had been for as long as Mick had known him, but unfortunately Mick had never been one to take solace in art and silence wouldn't help him settle his mind any.

That meant that his empty flat wasn't really an option either, though, and he found himself steering towards Prophet's place without really thinking about it. Prophet wouldn't understand why this case had got to him so badly—it was nothing against Prophet but he just _couldn't_, not like Coop could—but he always had music playing or a game on the television and he'd never objected to Mick hanging around whether he'd actually been invited over or not. Right now that was going to have to be enough.

It wasn't until he reached Prophet's door that Mick realized that he didn't even know if Prophet had gone home after the case. Usually he made a general invitation to the team if he planned to hit a bar or diner or whatever, but not always, and for all Mick knew he'd had a dozen errands to run and wouldn't be home before dark. Mick hit the bell anyway since he still didn't know Beth well enough to just show up on her doorstep, and while he didn't doubt that Gina would let him in if she was home, he wasn't really up for a battle of wits at the moment. When he heard the click of a lock turning a moment later, he let out a breath he hadn't realized that he was holding. "Hey," he greeted as the door opened.

"Hey," Prophet returned. "What's up?"

Mick opened his mouth to reply, only to stop automatically. It wasn't the first time that he'd cursed national security—or international security, rather—regulations that meant that he couldn't talk about some of the things that he'd seen, but today it seemed particularly cruel. And particularly ridiculous because he didn't even have to ask to know that Prophet would never breathe a word about anything that Mick told him in confidence.

Prophet tilted his head slightly and then shook his head and stepped back, waving Mick inside. "Was about to make lunch. You want a sandwich?"

"Yeah, sure. Sounds good." Mick knew Prophet's place almost as well as his own, and he felt the tension in his shoulders lessening at the faint strains of music in the background. "Don't suppose there's a game on or something?"

"Before noon on a Friday?" Prophet shook his head. "Not so much. Well, unless you want to watch a golf tournament."

Mick scoffed. He and Prophet might argue about which football was actually _football_ or why Prophet insisted that his precious As would actually do something impressive some day or a dozen other things, but they were very much in agreement about the 'sport' of people chasing tiny white balls down bizarrely well-manicured lawns in miniature cars.

Prophet turned towards the kitchen and Mick followed, reaching up into the cabinet for glasses as Prophet started digging around in the refrigerator for sandwich supplies. "What do you want to drink?"

"Just water. I'm out of milk, and it's too damn early for beer."

Given the time, Prophet did kind of have a point, and Mick filled the glasses from the tap quickly as Prophet started assembling sandwiches. "What is this song, anyway?" he asked, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the stereo. Prophet listened to a wider range of music than he generally did—among other things, Mick didn't have much use for old guys with guitars or people singing through their noses—but this one wasn't bad, and he didn't recognize it from his forays through Prophet's music collection.

"I'll have to check. I just got a couple new records, and I'm not sure which one this track's from."

"You do know they aren't called records anymore, right Grandpa?" Mick asked, feeling a real grin tugging at his lips for the first time since they'd walked into that school this morning. "Say it with me now, C-D."

Prophet twisted to look back at him. "You want food or not?"

"All right, all right." A minute later Mick traded a glass of water for one of the sandwiches that Prophet had made, and Prophet nodded towards the living room.

"Come on, let's just eat on the couch. Saves cleaning off the table."

Considering that Prophet's kitchen table was currently buried under his go bag, his computer, a stack of mail that looked like it had been building since well before they'd picked up this last case, and the remains of a package—probably what his new 'records' had come in—it was easy enough to see why he'd made the suggestion, and Mick headed into the living room and down at one end of the couch, putting his glass on the floor beside him.

Prophet took the other end, flipping on the television, and Mick sucked in his breath at the ball of fire that suddenly appeared on the screen as the sound of an explosion echoed through the speakers.

"_Shit_." Prophet shut the television off again quickly. "Sorry, man. Just figures that Die Hard part twelve would be coming on right about now."

"I'm not…it's fine," Mick said, shaking his head and trying to force his heart to slow down again. "It's fine."

"You sure about that? These last couple cases been pretty rough on you."

Mick looked over and then away quickly. Prophet might not understand like Coop did, but that didn't mean that he was stupid.

"You want to talk about it?" Prophet asked after a minute.

Mick shook his head and concentrated on his sandwich. Honestly, as dumb as he thought the regulations were, especially where Prophet was concerned, even if he _could_ he wasn't sure that he had the words to really explain it. If it was just the sniper back in Chicago getting to him that would be one thing, but that bomb….

For a few minutes the only sound in the room was that of the CD playing, and then, "You still want to know why I don't date?"

Mick's eyes snapped back to Prophet's. Of all the things that he might have expected to come out of Prophet's mouth, that hadn't been anywhere on the list. "You don't have to say if you don't want to," he said after a moment. Not that he'd come up with an answer, or even any better theories, but it wasn't fair to push Prophet on something that he didn't want to talk about when Prophet wasn't pushing him. Even if it would be a good distraction.

"No," Prophet agreed. "But maybe it's time that I did."


	4. History

_Thanks to everyone who read and bindsy, stilljustme, Anneklok, and narwhayley for reviewing._

* * *

Mick wouldn't push any more, but that didn't mean that he was going to say no if Prophet really was willing to talk, and he shifted around to sit sideways on the couch.

Prophet took out his wallet and dug around in it, pulling out a picture and passing it over to Mick. "Desiree."

"She's pretty," Mick said, looking at the image. The woman in the photo was probably in her early twenties, although the image was faded so it was hard to say for sure, with an easy smile and long hair in braids down her back.

"Yeah," Prophet agreed. "And smart and funny and damned if I can tell you why she ever looked at me twice. Never mind said yes when I asked her to marry me."

Mick's eyes widened. "You're married?" It had been one of the random ideas he'd come up with, sure, but not one he'd seriously considered.

"I was."

"What happened?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth he had a bad feeling that maybe prison had happened—he knew the statistics as well as anyone—but Prophet just shook his head as he took the picture back, looking at it for a moment before putting it back in his wallet.

"About thirteen years ago she was on her way to work when a semi rolled on the highway and caused a pileup. One minute I was putting away the dishes and getting ready to go to work myself, and the next there was a policeman at the door telling me they were…."

"They?" Mick interrupted with a frown.

Prophet closed his eyes and looked away. "She. I…she."

The correction came too late, and Mick's stomach twisted. "You had a kid, didn't you?" He'd never considered the possibility before, but it wasn't hard to imagine. Anyone could see that Prophet adored children—and did _not_ react well when someone harmed one as Mick was well aware—and Mick had rarely seen a child turn away from him.

"We had two," Prophet said finally. "Caleb had just turned five and Ashley was two. Their daycare was right next to Desi's work."

"I'm sorry," Mick said. There wasn't a lot else that he could say.

Prophet nodded and then shook his head slightly. "I don't…I can't talk about them."

It was Mick's turn to nod. Some things you didn't touch.

"Anyway, after Desi died, I couldn't even look at another woman," he continued after a moment. "Even…well, I can't tell you much about what I did that first year without them, I know I drank too much and got myself into some trouble, but mostly it's just a blur. But then Elliot dragged me out to a bar for my birthday, and there was this woman there, and…." He shook his head. "I felt like _crap_ afterwards. And it never got any better the other times I tried getting back into dating either. So I decided I was done. Well, I decided I was done and then I ended up in prison so it wasn't exactly an option anyway, but even if that hadn't happened…." He trailed off with a shrug.

"I don't mean any disrespect, Proph, I really don't," Mick said after a minute. "But thirteen years is a long time. You don't think maybe you should try again?"

A flicker of a grin crossed Prophet's face. "Think I haven't noticed that? Believe me, I have. And I do try every now and again." One shoulder twitched. "To be fair, right after I got out probably wasn't the best time to start, but I gave it a shot, and it didn't go any better than it had before. Took me about five minutes to start comparing her to Desi, and..." He shook his head. "She lost. Everyone loses. They still do, even today."

A fact that probably wasn't helped by the fact that Prophet was still carrying her picture with him, but Mick knew better than to point that out. Some of what he did want to say must have shown on his face, though, because Prophet shrugged again slightly.

"Yeah, I know, comparing someone to a ghost was—is—pretty pointless. Hell, when it comes right down to it, I'm pretty sure Desi would be first in line to tell me to knock it off and that it's high time I get on with my life. But I can't help it, and aside from the fact that it isn't fair to them, I always end up feeling miserable. It's just not worth it."

That sounded pretty extreme to Mick, but then again, he'd never been in that situation. "Does Coop know?" he asked instead of commenting.

Prophet shook his head. "I don't think he's that worried about my social life. I'm not sure why you are. I really am fine."

"You're my friend. I'm allowed to worry if I want to. But I was talking about you having been married and stuff."

"Oh." He shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, I assume so—I'm damn sure he had a background check done, and if Garcia did it he probably knows what I got on my third grade report card never mind finding something obvious like a marriage certificate—but he's never asked me about it."

"Can I?" Mick asked after a moment.

"Hm?"

"Ask. More."

"If you want," Prophet said. "Just…like I said, not about the kids, okay?"

"I won't," Mick agreed immediately. Of course, as soon as the words were out of his mouth his mind went blank, but then he decided to go with the obvious. "So how did you two meet?"

Apparently that was an acceptable question because Prophet shifted back a little further into the couch cushions and a hint of a smile crossed his face. "I was eighteen, and she dropped a crate on me."

* * *

Mick yawned and blinked slowly. He should get up and go home. Or at least he should get up and tell Prophet that he should go lay down in his bed if he wanted to nap because while Mick sometimes got stiff if he fell asleep on the couch during a movie or whatever, Prophet always did. But considering that Prophet had trailed off mid-sentence a few minutes ago—or at least Mick thought it had only been a few minutes, it was hard to say for sure—and his breathing was steady, he was probably already asleep.

Mick's questions had turned away from Prophet's wife fairly quickly, mostly because even if Prophet had said he would answer it had obviously hurt him, but Prophet had been willing to talk about other things too. It had been nice hearing stories about Prophet's past. His habit of not talking about himself was pretty deeply ingrained and he'd lapsed back into generics a few times, but when Mick hadn't pushed, he'd relaxed a little. And it had turned out that Prophet's past wasn't as mysterious as Mick had thought. It was reassuring. He might not have known specifics before, but he'd known that Prophet knew a lot about construction and a little about auto repair. He hadn't known that Prophet got seasick—or that he'd learned that fact the one time he'd tried crewing on a tanker; Prophet's expression when he'd admitted that had been pretty hilarious—but he had known that Prophet had done quite a bit of traveling by train but had never been on a plane until he'd joined the FBI. And not that he didn't have more questions, but…well, now that Prophet had started talking about his past, Mick was pretty sure he'd be willing to keep going.

Mick slumped down a little further on the couch as his eyes started to drift shut again. He should get up, he really should, but he was comfortable. And he'd only nap for a little while. It couldn't be much more than mid-afternoon, after all. But work had started too bloody early today, and that was disregarding what the work had been.

Plus, if he stayed, he and Prophet could split a pizza for dinner which would beat anything that Mick currently had in his fridge. In fact, he was pretty sure there were a couple of things living in his fridge that would eat a pizza without his help; somehow cleaning that thing out never quite made it to the top of his to-do list, even when he knew it should. And if there wasn't a decent game on they could raid Prophet's DVD collection for something to watch and he could make fun of Prophet for his insistence on calling DVDs 'videos.' Not a bad way to spend an evening all things considered.


	5. Coping with Ghosts

_Thanks to everyone who read and RawSonM and narwhayley for reviewing._

* * *

Mick jerked awake, sucking in his breath sharply. There was no fire, though, no smoke, just Prophet's living room and the faint strains of violin music coming from the speakers. He took a deep breath as the image of falling ash faded from his mind, a little relieved that Prophet wasn't at the opposite end of the couch anymore. For someone who didn't miss much, Prophet was very good about pretending he hadn't seen a thing, but all the same Mick was glad that his startle-awake hadn't been witnessed.

Mick took another deep breath, trying to relax, and then his nose twitched. There was definitely no smoke; that was pizza. Apparently Prophet had decided that it was dinnertime when he'd woken up. Then again…Mick glanced towards the window and realized that the light was almost gone. He'd slept later than he'd thought he would.

He pushed himself up off the couch and stretched, wincing as his neck protested, and then headed into the kitchen. "Prophet?"

"Hey," Prophet returned, turning away from the counter to shoot him a grin. "Welcome back to the land of the living. When you didn't even twitch when the delivery guy rang the bell, I was afraid I was going to have to dump a glass of water on you to wake you up. And I'd hate to make a mess of my couch like that."

"You're funny, mate. Besides, you've got no business talking; you were halfway through a sentence when you nodded off. I thought that only old guys on porches that did that."

"I was not."

"Were so. Ooh, breadsticks." Suitably distracted, Mick caught the plate Prophet tossed him and snagged one, along with a couple pieces of pizza. And then frowned as he realized that there was a second box underneath the first. "Two large pizzas and breadsticks? How hungry were you?"

Prophet shrugged. "I had a coupon, and I figured I could get a couple lunches out of whatever we don't finish. That or we could the others a call and see if they want to join us. It's early enough that I doubt anyone has eaten."

"I like that plan." It wouldn't be the first time that the team got together at someone's flat after a bad case, and Prophet wouldn't have made the suggestion if he minded. Then again, after what they'd been talking about earlier, he'd probably like having the others around too. Mick set his plate down on the edge of the counter and pulled out his phone. "I'll call Coop."

Prophet nodded. "I'll try Gina and Beth. Hey, if he wants to come, ask him to pick up a video on the way over, would you? I've already seen all of mine, and I checked and the only thing even close to worth watching on television is another showing of _Die Hard_."

Mick made a face. Most of the time he liked action flicks, but tonight he was not in the mood. "Will do." He smirked slightly. "Although you do realize that if he tells anyone that he wants a video, they're going to direct him back to the nineties, right?"

Prophet rolled his eyes, and Mick grinned and turned away, putting his phone to his ear.

"Cooper," Coop said after a couple rings.

"Hey, Coop, it's Mick. Want to come over and join Prophet and me and hopefully the others for pizza and a movie? We're at Prophet's."

"Sure, sounds good," Coop said. "What's the movie?"

"We don't know. We were going to ask you to pick one up."

Coop snorted. "All right, I'll stop by the rental place on my way."

"Something funny, yeah?"

"Yeah." He paused. "How are you doing?"

Mick shrugged, although Coop couldn't see it. "All right." Or as close to it as he could be, anyway. "You?"

"About the same. Comedy it is. See you shortly."

"See you." Mick cut the connection and stuck his phone back into his pocket before turning to Prophet. "Coop's in."

Prophet held up his free hand, his phone still against his ear, and then, "All right, later." He tapped the screen of his phone and then lowered it and looked at Mick. "Gina's coming too. And she's been baking. Between that and the pizzas and breadsticks we should have more than enough food."

Mick grinned. Gina had a habit of baking when she needed to think something through, and it wouldn't be the first time that the team had been the beneficiaries. "Beth?" he asked.

"Haven't called her yet." He frowned. "I guess I should have waited to order dinner, though. Coop'll be here soon, even with a stop on the way, but Gina's got a good twenty-minute drive, and I don't think Beth's is much less."

"Ah, you've got a microwave. It'll be fine. Actually…." Mick picked up his breadstick and then slid his slices back into the box with the rest and stuck both boxes in the oven. "That should keep them."

"Good idea." Prophet tapped a few buttons on his phone and then put it back to his ear. "Hey, Beth, it's Prophet," he said a moment later.

Mick munched on his breadstick as he wandered over to sort through Prophet's CD collection—he did want to steal a couple of Prophet's new tracks—and after a few minutes Prophet joined him, two bottles of beer in his hand.

"Beth is on her way, and she says she'll stop and grab another six-pack," he said, handing one over.

"Nice, I didn't even think about that." Mick took a drink and then glanced at Prophet. "Are you okay?" Prophet didn't seem to be acting any differently than usual, but it was sometimes hard to tell with him. Usually hard to tell with him, unless he was really pissed off about something.

Prophet nodded, his eyes focused on the CD cases.

"You sure?"

He nodded again and then shrugged and looked at Mick. "It's hard to explain, but it just _is_ at this point. You lost your parents so you know what that's like. I've been there too, and I can't even begin to explain how much worse this was for me, especially the kids, but it's sort of the same idea. It still hurts, and sometimes it hurts worse—if you ask me that question on one of their birthdays or our anniversary my answer might be different—but after a while you learn to deal with it. You have to." He took a long drink. "I thought talking about Desi would be harder than it was, actually. And the rest of the before was pretty easy."

"At least now I know you're not likely to want to try fishing," Mick said with a smile, letting Prophet's comment about his wife slide aside while filing 'the before' with 'the dark days' as part of Prophet's classification of his past.

"Oh, I like fishing. Haven't been since I was a kid, but it's not a bad way to spend a few hours. I just prefer to do it from a boulder. Or a dock. Or a very, _very_ flat pond." He shook his head. "Stupid tanker."

Mick's smile widened, but there were other things still weighing on his mind, and after a few minutes he turned serious again as he finished off his breadstick and then reached out to trace the spines of a couple CD cases with a finger. "I'll leave you alone about the dating thing, too."

"I'd appreciate that. Like I said, I know it's stupid, but…." He trailed off with a shake of his head.

Mick nodded, and then, "I don't suppose you've got any particular tricks for coping with the ghosts." Prophet's were a totally different sort than he was having issues with, granted—and he obviously hadn't conquered them all just yet—but Mick trusted Prophet. And right now he could use some ideas.

"Time?" He shot Mick a quick smile, but there wasn't much humor in it. "Sorry, I know that's not what you want to hear."

"No, but it's kind of what I figured."

Prophet tilted his head. "Are you going to be all right? You know you're welcome to crash on the couch anytime you want."

"I know. And I'll be okay." He'd just have to keep burying them until that time thing kicked in. He shook his head and then dropped his hand and nodded at the CD cases. "So which ones are the new ones? I might as well grab them now before the others get here."

"When exactly did I become the local record store?" A pause. "Don't even say it."


End file.
